Exactly Two Days Slow
by erre13
Summary: Despite all the planning and the scheming, sometimes things are set into motion much too late.


Exactly Two Days Slow

Disclaimer: JKR is responsible for the creation of the world of Harry Potter, I on the other hand am responsible for the snot that comes from my brain.

Author's Note: The title comes from a quote from _Alice in Wonderland_ the animated film, I'm not sure if it is also in the book. The Mad Hatter says, "No wonder you're late. Why, this watch is exactly two days slow." I am currently at a lost when it comes to the stories I have been working on so I did a rather darker take on a little drabble that I have no plans on continuing. Just an idea to get the juices for everything else flowing.

* * *

Harry sat in his cupboard under the stairs no longer aware of the blood that dripped down his face or the state of his broken left arm that hung uselessly at his side. Surprisingly he had not cried out in pain or shed tears of agony when his Uncle had broken his limb and slammed his head against the sharp counter of the island in the middle of the kitchen. In fact, he hadn't seemed to feel any of it at all; not the burning as his Uncle had pressed the butt of his cigar in his right hand or the glass that had cut across his face when he had been thrown through the coffee table in a fit of drunken rage before being locked back up in his closet. He had sat and sat and sat and thought for quite a bit before coming to a conclusion. Harry's feral smile would have shocked people if they had been able to see it but of course he was alone in the darkness of his cupboard under the stairs. Harry's emerald eyes shown with an unnaturalness that would alert someone immediately about the health of his mentality; they were bright and wicked and held a darkness that contrasted with the moral of society. It was then that Harry's understandings morphed and he nodded to himself.

The Dursley's mistreated him because they feared him. He knew that. He could see it in their hushed whispers and feel it in their revulsions and he could definitely taste it in the ways that their eyes betrayed their emotions. He knew it with every fiber of his body and he finally understood. He always could do things when he wanted, he could manipulate things when he needed, and he could definitely make things happen just by willing them to. He was unnatural, a freak, the devil's spawn. He finally understood and he laughed. He could feel the darkness around him shiver as he let out the sounds that most would classify and identify with the insane. He flicked his eyes to the door and it opened easily, noiselessly. The now ten-year-old padded through the kitchen softly with an eerie grin on his face before taking one of the kitchen knives from the cutting block and turning back the way he came.

He stopped in the living room and surveyed the whale of a man that now slept on the couch due to his drunken stupor. Harry's eyes gleamed. He took the knife and without hesitation slit the throat of his Uncle jaggedly. Ahh, he would need more practice he supposed to make it as clean as the assassins on the television. Vernon Dursley had woken and was gurgling through the blood as he reached out for Harry who only continued to smile before shoving the knife into his Uncles chest. Using the serrated edge to his advantaged he practically sawed through his Uncle, dissecting him one would say. Vernon had already passed out from the blood loss but Harry didn't stop, didn't care that the blood was staining his handed down clothes or that it was splattering onto his face. He pocketed the knife and plunged his hand into his Uncle's mess off a body and pulled out the intestines, dropping them on the floor. He eyed the chest cavity next and willing it the ribs cracked open and separated from one another until they were all sticking out and standing. Harry took the still heart and using his still unknown power yanked it out of the man's anatomy and stuck it on the ribs as if it were an enemy's head on a pyre. He laughed darkly before using the blood on his hands to write the word "Happy" on his Uncle's forehead. He took a moment to look at his work before turning and leaving the living room.

He went up the stairs quietly but managed to skip as he did so, his light frame and underweight body barely disturbing the staircase. His bloodied hand skimmed the wall as he went higher and higher up the stairs, the lines of blood punctuated with a handprint at the very end of the staircase. At the top of the stairs he stopped at the side table placed in the middle of the hallway and reached under it and pulled the gun from when it was been secured for safety purposes. He had come across it years ago while cleaning and he wondered if his Uncle even remembered it being here. It was a simple revolver. Six shots, he checked. Six rounds. Six little destructive explosions of joy for him to use. He hummed to himself while he opened the door to the master bedroom and closed it with a soft click. Aunt Petunia always slept with earplugs in and a cover over her eyes. He knew that, he had shopped for the items enough times to know that. He hummed again before walking slowly around the bed several times before pressing the barrel of the gun near Petunia's temple. No, that wouldn't do. The neighbors would definitely ruin his kill if they heard the gunshot. He picked up a discarded throw pillow from the floor and put it in front of the barrel. The shot should line up, but if it didn't, he still had five more. Harry pulled the trigger and watched in amusement as the skull of his Aunt caved and blood along with brain tissue splattered around the headboard, the sheets, the pillow, everything in close vicinity really. Petunia was dead and he wondered if she even knew it.

He tore off the sleeping mask over her eyes and pulled out the knife and began to extract the eyeballs in a way that was not very gentle at all. He had wanted to hear her scream but that would have ruined things. He slammed the eyeballs against the wall with his still slightly good hand and wrote "Birthday" on her forehead. Done with this kill he pocketed the gun and held onto the knife as he made his way to his dear cousin's room. He opened the door and with great pleasure he stabbed Dudley in his thigh. Of course, it produced the desired effect. Harry watched as Dudley screamed and cried pathetically before looking at him with the coils of hatred and fear swirling in his eyes. Before he could say something that Harry didn't wish to hear he slashed horizontally at Dudley's open mouth and was pleased that he had cut through the tissue on both sides. Maybe now that his mouth was wider than it should be he would let more of the delicious sounds escape instead of those stupid words he had clearly wanted to use. Dudley's screamed became more fevered of course, making Harry's bloodlust throb. He wasted no time slashing Dudley over and over again before cutting out the boy's tongue. He watched with a gleam in his eyes as Dudley chocked and died on his own liquid life force while loss of it affected the rest of his frame. The apparent savior of the wizarding world then carved the words "to me!" on his cousin's forehead before emptying the last of the rounds in various places on his tormentor's body. This would surely create enough noise for the neighbors to hear, and he bloody wanted them to hear.

Finished Harry made his way down the steps and sat at the very bottom and waited. That was where the police found him at 2:43 am on the 31st of July of the year 1990. Due to his age and the condition he was in he was sent to an insane asylum on the outskirts of London where he would hopefully be reformed. Of course when said boy did not attend Hogwarts for his first year Albus Dumbledore along with Severus Snape and Minerva McGonagall made a trip to see exactly what had kept the child. To their surprise, the house was abandoned and the neighbors did not seem as if they knew any names of Potter or Dursley.

"We need to find him Albus, who knows what those dreadful Muggles have done to the boy." Minerva's voice was barely a contained whisper as the three of them headed down the street.

"I'm sure he will turn up my dear, I will have the Order look for information immediately." Albus countered and tapped her hand in a comforting gesture. Severus Snape only stared back at the street from which they came with narrowed eyes. It had been faint and old and covered with layers of dust and time but he had smelled blood coming from the Dursley house.

Eight years later and they had still to find the boy and Voldemort had once again restored his body like Dumbledore had feared he would. He had used Quirrell to take the Sorcerer's Stone and save himself from death and then the year after he had used a diary to possess the youngest Weasley and drain her of her life force before enforcing a memory of his past self into existence. From what Dumbledore heard through his extensive network he had merged his shade of a self with the reinforced memory in a ritual that used the bones of his father and the sacrifice of Quirrell to return his body. He now looked much like he did when he was in his late twenties but he could also morph into the snake like appearance that warranted fear and respect. Dumbledore had been forced to give up the search for Harry Potter in order to focus on the war efforts. It saddened him and worried him because according to prophecy only he would have the power to kill Voldemort.

* * *

A knock brought his thoughts from his planning and he flicked his eyes to the door before granting entrance. Immediately the man walked in and bowed, his blond hair flowing from behind his white mask.

"Lucius, I take it you have news to report?" He leaned back into his chair and watched the blond carefully.

"Yes My Lord. Though it has taken much time and effort I have located the Potter brat." His interest spiked the Dark Lord smirked.

"Oh? And where is he? Off gallivanting in some foreign country with those Muggle relatives of his?" Harry Potter had been a setback considering he had defeated him all those years ago, and according to Snape the prophecy deemed him the chosen child who would eventually bring his downfall. One could not live while the other survived after all. Though his disappearance had led to less of a hassle on his part which he begrudgingly acknowledged.

"He is currently in a Muggle insane Asylum outside of London. Apparantly he has been there since he was ten. I have his file My Lord." The pureblood placed the file on the desk in front of him and waited while Voldemort read it. He chuckled darkly.

Patient 313

Name: Harry James Potter

DOB: 31st July 1980

Date of Admittance: 2nd August 1990

Reason of admittance: Murder of relatives. Here pages of what looked to be a police file and pictures of evidence filled up the next five pages. He couldn't help but approve of Harry's work, though it looked like most of the damage had been made while the victims were already dead. The next section had a current photo of the boy and besides the chilling smile and dangerous gleam to his eyes he looked like a normal teenager. Of course, the descriptions of his habits and life quickly disproved that notion. He had mysteriously killed at least ten hospital personnel during his stay as well as half a dozen patients. There were also a list of occurrences and deaths that had been listed as him being the prime suspect but there seemed to be no proof. The Dark Lord closed the file and tapped a finger to his lip. Well, this was a change in plans. He had expected the boy to be quite different upon discovery, now he wondered what to do with him exactly. He eyed Malfoy with a searching look. No, the man wouldn't do for his purposes. It was probably best that he go himself.

"You are dismissed. I will be paying a visit to Augustine's Asylum for the Insane and I leave you, Bella, and Rosier in charge." Lucius bowed again.

"Yes, My Lord." Before the blonde disappeared the Dark Lord spoke.

"Despite the length of time it required to procure such information, you have done well Lucius."

"Thank you My Lord." The blond left and he unclasped his cloak and his robes and put on a simple yet tasteful silk red shirt and black trousers. He glamoured his eyes a dark brown, donned a pair of prescription free glasses, and made his hair shorter before apparating down the road from the establishment where Harry Potter was held. In his hand he held a conjured briefcase and he peered carefully at the building before speaking to a guard at the gate who led him towards the front door. Upon entering he was shown to a woman who asked him for his name and business. Dumbledore would have a heart attack when he knew he had found the boy first.

"I am Tom Riddle and I am looking for a Mr. Harry Potter." The woman nearly squeaked her surprise.

"What business do you have with him?" Her eyes were fearful. So, Potter really did strike fear throughout this establishment.

"I have come to request a change of Hospital as his Godfather." The secretary quickly dialed a number on the telephone and had a short conversation with someone on the other line. In five minutes a doctor greeted the two of them.

"You are Harry's Godfather?" The doctor looked between him and his paperwork before finding nothing wrong with the forged certificate. "Well, it is within your rights to request a change in hospital, but I don't envy anyone working or living in that facility. This way." The doctor led him enclosed courtyard which was fenced in, had barbed wire running along the top of the steel gates and guards patrolling the perimeter. He found it amusing.

"He's there, under the yew tree. Be careful, his moods tend to vary." They walked towards the young man who was humming to himself, uncaring to the events of the world around him. "Harry, you have a visitor. A Mister Tom Riddle, your Godfather." The doctor nodded his head at Riddle before motioning towards the guards. "If he gives you any trouble just give a shout." He retreated back into the building obviously to find another reason to stay away. The teen just continued to hum and Voldermort across from him at the picnic table as Harry continued to stare at an empty chess board. Voldemort stared at the boy assessing him before speaking.

"Hello Harry." Green eyes met his before a chilling smile graced his lips.

"Ah, a visitor. Where are my manners?" He spun the board. "Would you prefer white?" He spun the board again. "Or black?" There were no pieces on the board but the Dark Lord didn't doubt that Potter thought there were. "Or do you want to leave it up to chance?" He spun the board and the two watched it spin until it lost momentum and stopped.

"I'm afraid I have no interest to play chess at the moment." He said, waiting for Harry's response. Would he be angered at him for not wanting to play? Disappointed? Uncaring? Harry stared at him before he leaned in closer.

"But you have always been quite good at it haven't you?" He motioned towards the board and Voldemort looked at the pieces that were not there before. So, Harry knew of magic. He needed to no wand or incantations. It seemed he just needed to will something to happen.

"Hmmm." He thought. Potter had grown up without knowing the existence of magic or its limitations. Did that mean that he would have none? Children were taught what could and could not happen when magic was involved, but for a child who lacked that and did not need any outside help in order to utilize his magic it was possible that he could do anything. Interesting.

"Tell me Tom, what brings you here?" The question was genuine though had an undercurrent of something else.

"Well, imagine my surprise to find that you are in a loony bin instead of gallivanting across the globe immersed in your own enjoyment."

"There is plenty to keep me entertained here thanks." Harry picked up the white king and hummed a melody that seemed to exist within his own mind before placing it back where it belonged.

"So I have been informed by your patient file." The Dark Lord transfigured the set into a wizard chess set and Harry could barely contain his glee as the pieces were at a free for all. He watched as pawns decimated each other and a rook swung its mace at a bishop. "Wizards chess, though the annihilation usually happens while the game is being played." Harry's Killing Curse eyes bore into his and his smile reminded him exactly why the teen had been placed in such an establishment.

"The use of magic to corrupt such a sensible thing; I wonder if wizards realize that the more they use magic the more they taint this Godforsaken plane." Tom raised an eyebrow.

"You believe in God Mr. Potter?" The teen scoffed.

"God is something that mortals created in order to ease their minds concerning that which they could not understand. At least, that is my take on such things as religion. Though, the Western God is probably one of the most boring beings to be imagined when compared to those of other cultures." Tom couldn't help himself so he chuckled, darkly.

"Yes, through his followers our kind as well as others of the magical realm were hunted, burned, and killed. Not to mention that God is never there when we may want him to be." Harry sneered.

"That is why it's every man for himself; you either learn to survive or you perish." The dark haired teen twirled his fingers around an imaginary object before hunching forward, knocking down half the chess pieces. Though, he didn't seem to mind and neither did they now that they were still once more.

"So, Tom, what are you doing here?" Tom Riddle looked to his left and observed the compilation of Muggles that dotted the expanse of the courtyard and the watch stations.

"Originally my goal was merely to assess the situation, gauge your mental ability, see if you provided any threat to me."

"And your conclusions?"

"You, Harry Potter are very much a threat if we speak purely on a magical level. However, you have no animosity towards me despite the fact that I murdered your family and am the reason for your stay with those accursed relatives of yours."

"Yes, well, the way I see it you were just going to neutralize a threat. Like I said you either learn how to survive or you perish. Besides, once you get a taste for blood you never quite get over it." The teen had said the statement nonchalantly but his eyes gleamed a familiar light that the Dark Lord could identify in most of his followers and himself. This child bore darkness and did not care to cast it out.

"As you say. Now, however, I am faced with the decision of what to do with you." Harry hummed before righting the chess board, the pieces falling back into place due to his nimble hands.

"Well, you could leave me here to my entertainment if you wish. I wouldn't mind. People are such a riot when you know how to make them squirm."

"I very well could, but I feel that you could have greater use for me besides sitting in a mental institution." Harry shrugged before waving his hand and disappearing the chess set and replacing it with a deck of cards. Tom could feel that they were magically enhanced and when he picked one up he found them to be heavy, as if made of a thin sheet of metal and the edges sharp enough that he cut himself while picking one up from the pile. Interesting.

"Then take me along with you. Your side seems interesting to say the least, and I wouldn't complain about the killings as long as I get my fair share." He picked up the pile without any trouble and started to shuffle them despite their deadliness.

"Perhaps Rosier would take you on as an apprentice of sorts. He is one of my best assassins at the moment." Harry looked at him over his cards before shuffling again.

"We'll see. Assassins are too quiet for my liking, I sometimes tend to get flashy when I feel like it. How about I do your odd jobs? A bit of assassination, a bit of errand work, whatever comes my way." Harry pulled a card from the deck and Tom could see that it was blank. It seemed that all of them were.

"That can be arranged. Though, I'd advise you not to wish for a welcome party once we arrive, your reputation is rather inaccurate at the moment. Also, there will be a decorum of respect towards me. Despite our friendliness now, I will rule over you once we return." Harry pursed his lips.

"No, no, that won't do. I'm no one's master but my own. And I won't be branded like an animal. I'll leave my own version of you if you don't mind." Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Very well, you need not take the mark but there will be proper respect towards me. Now, would you like to depart now or do you wish to say good bye to your fellow patients?" He stood as did Harry, though his smile could barely contain his psychotic glee.

"Let's paint the town red as they say." In a second the nearest table of occupants had collapsed, cards imbedded into their necks or their throats slit. The cards soaked up the blood and formed a blood red Dark Mark in the middle of the blank side. Tom chuckled; he really was quite flashy when he felt like it. With a flick of his wand the guards had fallen from their posts and by this time the hospital was on alert. Harry was laughing like the maniac he was as he slit throat after throat, occasionally using magic to make a patient into some type of strange, bloodied, statue of some kind. The boy would do well in his ranks, even if his mind was not completely set. At least Rosier would be delighted to have someone such as him as his apprentice. At least, he hoped so. If not, the boy would need to be curbed somehow lest he become bored.


End file.
